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Sky May 4
i want to slot your nose bridge against mine
giggle when our foreheads bump
catch your lip between my teeth
exchange breaths and find that
yours tastes like my soap
stop eating my ****** soap
eat me instead
Sky Feb 26
the rain makes the asphalt look sad and pregnant.

i turn my head for one moment and a lonely 7 train skitters by, barely grazing my left ear. i close my eyes. i close my eyes because if you look, you get sad and that's how you lose. so i look down at my feet at the soft, shimmering asphalt instead

and i watch the train through the asphalt. it torpedoes by, one silver frame at a time, like a silent film still bobbing around in its chemical bath. i continue to watch, from a safe distance.

(its like looking out the window at the cars zooming by. its all fun and safe until you reach your hand out a bit too far and the next thing you know, some ******* car up and runs away with it.
its like marriage.)

except im in college and the wheels of the train never quite touch the ground, but hover, hover over like some kind of homeless intoxicated guardian angel stranded in a sprawling urban desert.

(he lies on top a one of those BigBellys, lies on his stomach, sandaled feet dangling just inches from the ground. blink blink, goes the BigBelly. Gabriel groans,
incomprehensible muttering)

and the train throws bleachy yellow squares of light throw themselves onto upon the pregnant asphalt in fits of just destructive laughter and when they hit the ground by that time they're already hugging themselves, hugging and shaking all over like fuuuuuuck, it's sooo cold in here (in my body!) each one of em murmuring in a foreign tongue about how someone keepzon etching street names into the bathroom walls

Thayer and Broadway at 3AM on a Wednesday morning is someone's oasis, mine for as long as i stand here, my mind stumbling back n forth from one airpod to the other as i feel like im sinking down, down into the soft squishy asphalt wit the weight of my backpack making my shoulders touch the floor wit my bleachy yellow head dangling from my neck as i blink needily / cravingly / searchingly at a sidewalk that stares back at me with the most deadest honest (to godest) blankest expression i ever seen on a no-body

and when i look into its eyes i can see myself but im standing in the  middle of Times Square and -- hey -- everythings looking up! but it cant be me because im here at Thayer and Broadway dangling my head and angling it AWAY from the passing train because if you look, you get sad, you think of home, and when you think of home, thats when you really know you've lost, not sure what but you've lost and you probably cant even actually go home after youve lost because, well, mother**** it you've lost and life just likes to call you a cuck and hit you in the throat like that

but i wouldn't know, i haven't gotten that far yet
here i am standing at the intersection of Thayer and Waterman. the rain glistens on the deserted streets and it's beautiful, but really, all i want to do is go home.
Sky Feb 5
1.  FUNCTION
a function (of a function (of a function)⭠⭠⮪
   ↳ function (of a function (of a function))     ↑
                                                               ­               ↑
function (of a function (of a function))           ↑
⇅                                                              ­             ↑
function (of a function (of a function))→ → ⤴

2. CONTRAPTION
a cute curvy carbon contraption
that salivates at the ringing of a bell
that clamps shut when its hairs are touched
that flies south for the winter

3. GREEN
is the earthworm that eats dirt and ***** soil
the lichen that makes barren rock habitable
the bees that pollinate so many plants
the euglena

i seem to breathe, yet am none of these. this makes me
a broken Bigbelly blinking in the dark
a traffic light saying wait, wait, wait to an empty sidewalk
Sky Dec 2019
you took me by surprise
in the middle of the night
the slightest breeze and
there you were
by my side

you spoke to me
ever so gently
a song without its measures
no staff nor stand

oh-- you sang to me
ever so wonderflly
like a song without its
compositionality (theo-ret-i-cal-ity)

just a melody in the dark
on a lonely winter's night
you come to me
like a melody in the dark

there was not even a spark
not a fleeting glance nor tiny touch
there was not a single sign of you at all

oh-- just a melody in the dark
on a cold dark winter's night
you come to me
like a melody in the dark

not a signature of time
not a rhythm not a rhyme
you went unnoted
like a melody in the dark
i like singing but i cant read sheet music so i guess this is kind of about how music appears to me not as notes and time signatures but as...well...a melody in the dark LOL you get it?? cause i cant...physically...see the music.... :')))
Sky Apr 2019
Motion Motion my devotion
on a lyre and on a quotient
you weave most lovely mind-contortions
yet grasp such fair mathematic notions

Motion Motion my devotion
on the R or in the ocean
you ricochet, stumble, and plie
an animal of the Poles, i did daresay

Motion Motion my devotion
in all the bustle and commotion
there were delays, I had lots of Time(s)
but lost track of them all when you waltzed into mine

Motion Motion my devotion
your can- or cannot-touch-your-toes
sha'nt stop your *****, hips, and toes
in Motion Motion,

strike a pose
a new york city love story
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